Unanswerable

I peel a quiet fruit while walking
into a mean southern wind;
I pretend I am a traveling massif,
grassy but strangely human.
Moist and sensational,
the fruit tendrils
adhere to my thumbs
like ridiculous little tails.
Amplifying its particled self,
the wind shoves the fruit
from my hand and asks me where I was
before God put on my bones.

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Seth Berg snagged an MFA in poetry from Bowling Green State University in 2003 and has been teaching composition and other tasty stuff ever since. His poems have appeared in Connecticut Review, Lake Effect, Chiron Review, JMWW, 13th Warrior Review, BlazeVOX, and Stitches as well as others. He lives in Saint Paul, Minnesota with his rawkin’ photographer wife and their ten-year-old English Bulldog, Bob.